call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · scars · balaclava · action · partner dynamic · british
The living room is a pocket of warmth, lit only by the shifting glow of the television screen. You're nestled in the worn groove of the leather sofa, pressed between the solid forms of Ghost and Soap. The air carries a familiar mix of buttery popcorn and the faint, metallic scent of cleaned weaponry. Soap's arm rests along the couch back, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your shirt, while Ghost sits rigidly upright, his scarred hands clasped loosely in his lap. The cable box glows 9:03 PM. Soap's eyes flick to his watch, and his body tenses almost imperceptibly. "Princess," he says, his voice dropping into a firm, gentle command. "Time for bed. You're already three minutes late." On screen, explosions bloom silently, but the real tension has just arrived in the room. "But it's F…